Today I had a feeling of overwhelm. You know those days, when the whelm just threatens to go over you all day? I had no idea of the source, so I just went about my business.

I had a First Aid course to attend, and it was okay. The young presenter was a nice young fella, and he kept the information relevant and as interesting as these kinds of refresher things can be. The content was moving along smoothly, we talked about all things cardiovascular and defebrilley until it was time to get out the mannequins. The demonstrator got out the adult torso and showed us how to compress the chest to a one third depth, to the tune of Stayin’ Alive (One hundred compressions a minute) followed by a breath. No sweat.

Then he got out the kid torso.

I’m not sure if it was the way he picked it up, cradling it carefully like it was an unconscious child, or if it was because, as he lifted it up I flashed back to the time when Coco had a general anaesthetic, and I held her, as she went off to sleep. But that was like no sleep I have ever seen. Her head lolled back and her eyes rolled back in her head, and she was literally a dead weight. Not a good thing to be thinking when you are handing your child over for surgery. I fought back the tears in case there was something in the theory of energy transfer and she would absorb my fears. I kept on thinking, “dead weight dead weight”, then, “don’t think dead, don’t think dead”, and then of course my brain couldn’t think of any other word.

So as our instructor lifted that tiny little torso onto the table to show us how we might bring it (her?) back from the dead, I nearly lost it. My eyes started that burning that means I’m close to crying and I all I could think was, “don’t cry he will think you’re nuts, don’t cry he will think you’re nuts” and then of course my brain just heard crycrycrycry.

The child mannequin that did not look like a child at all. Except to me.

So maybe I am a bit nuts. Or have a wild imagination. Or both.

Then tonight I read Eden’s blog, and I cried for real, so I decided if I was already crying I might as well be nuts as well, so I made a video of me trying to lip-sync to The Black Widow.

I don’t know if if will help Eden at all, but it helped me. Turns out that maybe Eden is right, and music is up there with food as one of our basic needs.

Maybe you could give it a try today too.

Sing out people.

Let the world hear your song.

Have you entered yet? What is “your” song?

…From The Ashers

Music and smells, they take you back.

Tonight on XFactor the Jim Morrison-Nick Cave hybrid dude sang The Power Of Love.

One moment I was on the couch with The Silverback and The Evil Geniuses, and the next I was lying on the spare mattress at Lissy’s house pressing Play/Pause/Play on the Pye cassette player, over and over again to write down the words to Frankie’s version of that same song. In the days before iTunes and Goog, that was how we figured out the lyrics, unless we were lucky enough to have a Brashs gift voucher stored up to purchase the actual record, with liner notes and (hopefully) the words, rather than a pirated TDK-60 tape of the album.

Lissy and I were future songwriters- quite possibly the Lennon/McCartney of our generation. She was Paul of course- that girl had a mighty voice, even back then, so I was John- whiney, nasally, and not all that pleasant to listen to, but I could sometimes turn a phrase or two. It is a shame and a crime that none of our recordings have survived, as our version of Kids In America was second only to our fabulous Wham Rap (yes, I still know all the words). We were magnificent back then in the 80s, with our confidence as big as both our hair, and our appetites for Rasin Toast and Super Sippers (Sing it: When you’re sippin’ all day long on a super Super Sipper), and only slightly smaller than our plastic clown earrings and shoulder pads.

Yes, I still have records. Oh well.

By 1984, we had finally tired of This Is Not A Love Song and were ready for a new challenge. Enter: Frankie Goes To Hollywood and The Power Of Love.

1984 was the year we stepped up our musical talents. No more would we just learn the songs verbatim and sing them endlessly and repeatedly and did I mention endlessly, until her brother would come screaming at us to: STOP WITH THE SAME SONG OVER AND OVER AGAIN YOU LITTLE IDIOTS. No, this was the birth of a new era. Something the kids of today call a parody.

It felt like much more than a parody though. We felt like the chick who wrote that hideous fanfic 50 Shades Of Grey must have felt- we were convinced we were creating something unique and beautiful. A tribute, yes, but a hit in its own right. Something that would make us millions, and most likely get us invited to a Frankie show, probably to appear as the secret climax of the evening. Laws knows we looked the part. No one had more Portmans colour co-ordinated fluro accessories than us.

Thirty years have dulled my memory somewhat, but I can still remember some of the adapted lyrics:

The power of rips, A force from the waves, Dragging me out. Something something something. Make surfing, Your goal.

I know, right?

How are we not millionaires, or at least, insanely famous?

I guess it’s just the way of the biz. A mystery, and a loss. To music-kind.

Before you get too upset, I might have forgotten to mention that in Year 10, my singing talents became widely known. I started up at a new school, and some of my friends were part of the school choir. Knowing how great my vocal range was, I went along one day, thinking I might bag myself a spot in the school musical. I’d heard that the guy who played Kenicke (and had pashed Rizzo for real) the year before might be up for another round. The play was called The Boyfriend, so that sounded all kinds of perfect to put some of the tips I’d picked up from Dolly Magazine to the test.

Anyway, I went to choir and I sang my little heart out, giving Miss both barrels of my repertoire: the startling high notes and the booming lows. After a while Miss pulled me aside, and I just knew she was going to ask me to be the new soloist.

“Ummm, Alison, you’re quite good at sport, aren’t you dear?”

“Yes Miss, sure am. Netty, softball, swimming, aths, I’m pretty good at all of ’em. And now this, singing too, so yeah, an all-rounder I guess,” I giggled a little in what I thought was a self-deprecating way, just so she would know I was also humble.

“Ahhh, yes, well, an all-rounder yes. It’s just that I hear they really need you in the, um, sports, so I’m thinking perhaps you’d be better served supporting the school in the, er, sports.”

What a lovely lady. Putting her entire school musical at risk, just to help out the sporting teams. What great school spirit. I can’t remember our school motto, but it surely must have been something like “Sacrifice one, for the good of all.”

Well played Miss.

The Power of Music, eh?

What songs take you back?

Have you penned a parody? Or been kicked out of choir?

…From The Ashers

A while ago we had an anniversary and it coincided with Dan Sultan and Scott Wilson playing at Joe’s Waterhole.  I didn’t want to go because I knew only one song, and I did not like it, Sam I Am.  But it was our anniversary, and seeing as most other things around this place seem to go my way, I thought it maybe it was time for Nath to have an opinion.  Don’t freak out, it was a one-off, no habits were formed.

So I got that boy some tickets and we were away.

We dressed ourselves young again, and turned the music up loud in the car, tricking the years away.  We even stood up at the bar for a bit, despite there being perfectly good seats available.  I still didn’t want to see the band, but I loved the feeling of the years fizzing away, dissolving into my stubby like an Aspro Clear.  Without the bitterness.

And then the boys got playing.  I was transfixed.  Dan Sultan has a raspy, morning-after voice, and the stories in the songs can take you on a trip to   away.  Scott plays his guitar like it’s his mistress, so you can’t help but wish he’d written the songs for you.  The whole show was cheeky and funny and sensual and transporting.  The boys were just that, boys, having a fine time, and acting like they couldn’t quite believe their luck that they were there and we were there and we knew the words to Sorrowbound and Dingo and Come Home Tonight.  I’ve lived that night many times since, catching a whiff of the exuberance of it all every time I hear the songs.  So I got us tickets to see Dan again. This time without Scott.  This time on a Wednseday night.  This time in the middle of Winter.  This time when we have had a big week, with more to come.  This time when I’ve just given blood.  This time when the babysitter cancelled, and another couldn’t do it.  This time when it all seemed too much effort.

Somewhere there, between then and now, we caught old.  We weighed up the pros and cons and decided it was too much trouble.  To find another sitter, to go out on a work night, to drive all the way down south and out of the Shire, to learn the new songs, to get off the couch.

So we gave the tickets to some young people, and sat on the couch with a blankie and reflected on times gone by- bands seen, comedy shows laughed at, drinks spilled.

I don’t know if this old that we’ve caught is just a virus, something that will pass with appropriate rest and a nice lie down, or if it will settle in our marrow and constrict us until we become fused and immobile.

I hope it will pass.  And that if we tweak and stretch ourselves in just the right way, we can shake it off.  Because I suspect this is exactly how it begins.  The new things seem like too much effort, so you make a decision to stay right here.  To miss the gig, not do the update, wear last-year’s fashion, turn down the music, refuse the newest social medium, complain about how the town used to look.  And the old that you’ve caught, eventually infests and kills you.

So please excuse me, I’m off for my Milo and a lie down.  But I may just listen to THIS first.  See if I can shake it off.

Do you go out on a school night? 

How much do you love Sorrowbound?

And how much am I now spewing that I didn’t just GO?  Answer: A LOT.

…From The Ashers

I had the wind knocked out of my sails a little this afternoon, no big deal, just things might trot along a little bit differently than the way I had imagined.  Some longer term goals might need to shuffle around a bit.  Providentially I had been to the shops this very morning, exchanging a Mother’s Day pressie, that although very lovely and floral and well, motherly, wasn’t really my style.  Instead I swapped it for this book.

So I spent the rest of the day mucking around in my imaginary world, and rescheduling a few goals.

And now it is time for me to arrange myself on the couch to watch the House Rules reveal.

I am telling you all this by way of explaining why the Evil Geniuses are in charge of what you are receiving here as blog content.

I asked them for ideas and the following is what they came up with.  According to Unit One it’s viral, and at 159 million views, it appears he speaks the truth.  How do they know that?  Why haven’t we heard about it before this?  How do they know all the words, and even have a little pantomime arranged, and we adults have NEVER EVEN HEARD OF IT?  Is there some secret child world where they go to and play Minecraft and Rainbow Loom all day?  So here it is, but before you click, beware: EARWORM.  Okay, click here now.

You’re welcome.

If it’s gonna drive you mad singling “Waddle Waddle” all day, there is an antivenin, and it is the sweetness of this one by the girls.  I’ve watched it approximately one million times and I still don’t know the tapping.  I want to be those girls.  Either one.

Have a fun day.  Happy singing.  (I might put the tapping on the top of my Five Year Goal list…)

Got any grapes?

…From The Ashers xx

Easter is almost here, and that brings with it thoughts of all things musical and beachy.  The Blues Fest is on, Bell’s is on, and in my part of the world, the cyclone has passed and the forecast is for FOUR DAYS OF BLOODY SENSATIONAL.  And post-cyclone waves.

So I thought I’d be a good Mummy and get the kids some tickets to see the 2Cellos in Brisbane (from the Easter Bunny- a great excuse not to buy anything more than an Elegant Rabbit, which is a must-do tradition more than anyone really liking them).   Unfortunately, I’ve come up with two problems: firstly, the doors open at 7.30pm, and our rats go to bed by 7pm.   As I was questioning myself as to whether it’s appropriate to give a seven and nine year old an espresso as a one off, once only event (until the next time I want them to stay up all night), I found the second problem: there is only standing room tickets left.  DOH.  There is no way, kiddy-speed or no, that these two can stand for an entire show.

Gutted.

I was going to be the best Easter BunnyMummy in the world, and now I’m going to be a bit shit, with a pair of winter pyjamas and some scattered Red Tulips.  Spewing.

All was not lost though.  As I was on the OzTix website, I might have seen Dan Sultan is playing in Maroochydore in July, and I might have spent the entire egg allocation on tickets for myself and my love.  Sorry kids, no live music for you.  You’ve got years ahead of you, and we might die soon.

How could I resist?

Now I”m off to start emailing Dan (as I like to call him, being close friends* with a dude who used to play with him, and all) to make sure he plays Sorrowbound.  And when I say emailing, I mean emailings.  There will be many.  I do like a project.

What are you doing for Easter?

Anyone else going to Dan?

*Facebook Friends. That’s close right?  (Hi Scott, and PS if you ever tour Qld we will be there too.. Fact.)

…From The Ashers xx

Unit Two has just started violin lessons.  Yes I know: NERD ALERT.

So you can imagine our wonder and relief when My Friend John posted THIS on the Book of Faces yesterday.  Okay, so they aren’t violins, but they’re close enough.  Our ragbags were freaking out… Unit One was stamping and air drumming.  Unit Two was air-violining.  (Yes, unfortunately in our house, this is now a thing.)

Why doncha fire up your Apple TV, turn up the surround sound and watch these two crazy crowies rock out.  If you have time, and are feeling all romantic, watch With Or Without You.

I wonder if those dudes got laid afterwards…?

Here endeth the blog. (Sorry it’s a short one, but I have to go and watch the bi-atches on MKR)

Are you watching MKR? (I swear, this is my last night)